Life
by lil smiles
Summary: Lisbon and Jane reflect on life's lessons prior to the climatic moment in Red John's Footsteps. Spoilers from the Season 1 Finale.
1. Lisbon's POV

**A/N: Okay, I just finished watching the season finale and I just had to write. ****This is *very* different from my previous Mentalist fics, but bear with me, it's still Jisbon centric, sort of. ****Sorry for being so cryptic. Other than that, read the spoiler alert, leave a review but most importantly, enjoy! **

**Spoilers: If you haven't watched the season finale, 1x23 **_**Red John's Footsteps**_**, watch it first then read the fic. I've warned you! :)**

**Disclaimer: The info about the types of guns used is all purely guesses made by my brother and me. Blame me if they're wrong. I own nothing related to the Mentalist. Nothing. Bruno Heller, if you're reading this, adopt me.  
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**Life (Lisbon's POV)**

I remember the first time I stared down the wrong end of a gun, as if it were yesterday. I was three months out of Quantico, greener than the well kept grounds at Augusta. My partner at the time was a foul-mouthed North Carolina native by the name of Pete Walstachuk. I hated the man, no, absolutely despised him. He used to chew gum like a horse but that wasn't what really ticked me off. He gave me a nickname that I couldn't shake until I moved to California. Doll-face. Every time he passed by my desk, he'd let his fingers linger on the back of my chair and say, 'Hey there, Doll-face.' Come to think of it, I should have reported his sorry ass to our super but I guess I just didn't have the guts back then.

It was a typical Tuesday afternoon when we were sent to question a possible witness to a double homicide in Georgetown. I followed Walstachuk as he knocked on the front door. No answer. He knocked again and this time a little girl in pink slippers appeared. Walstachuk asked if her parents were home. It was then I noticed something was seriously wrong. There was blood on the bunny ear of her left slipper. I was about to say something when we heard the gun shot. Walstachuk grabbed the little girl and threw her into my arms. He ran in, telling me to call for backup. I remember the little girl kicking and screaming as I put her in the car and made the call. When I finally got her to calm down, I hurried back into the house, gun held out in front of me. The first thing that hit me was the acrid coppery scent of blood filling my nostrils. Breathing through my mouth, I slowly made my way up the stairs. I could hear Walstachuk reasoning with someone followed by the choked sob of an unknown female. I continued up the stairs until the voices got louder. They were coming from the first room on the left, the door cracked open just a sliver. I was approaching the door when something grabbed at my ankle. I yelled and dropped my gun, kicking my leg as hard as I could. A grey ball of fur went flying into the far wall as I heard three successive shots. Bang. Bang. Bang. When I turned around, I came face to face with a Glock 18. I was trapped. I remember my pulse skyrocketed and then suddenly, returned to a more normal level. The man was at least six feet tall, lanky, his green eyes were rimmed red, tears pouring down his face. He looked no more than eighteen or nineteen, just a boy. I tried my best to calmly raise my hands. I introduced myself, my voice sounding distant, as if I was someplace else. He didn't utter a single word, his finger hovering over the trigger. And just when I was imagining what death would be like, I heard the final gun shot. Bang.

The boy's eyes widened and then he crumpled to the ground by my feet. Looking into the room, I saw Walstachuk sprawled along the ivory carpet stained crimson. His right hand was outstretched holding his firearm. My green gaze met his blue. I rushed to his side, tears unexpectedly springing to my eyes. When the backup arrived, they found me cradling my partner's head in my arms. Special Agent Peter Gregory Walstachuk died on his way to the hospital. He was thirty two years old, the same age as I am today.

That memory was what flashed through my mind when Hardy had the barrel of a .40 S&W pointed at me. This time, I didn't think about death at all when I heard the final gun shot. Bang.

Truth be told, I felt my heart stop. I should have died. But when I saw Hardy go down, my head instantly snapped to my left. Green met blue. And like in the movies, time slowed to a crawl and the entire world consisted of only me and Patrick Jane. I literally had to use every ounce of my strength to will the tears burning behind my eyes not to fall. Never in my life did I feel so grateful to be right. He chose life. He chose to save mine.

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_**Fin for now, Jello forever**_


	2. Jane's POV

**A/N: Wow, thank you so much for the wonderful reviews. I hate to toot anybody's horn but I think Mentalist fanfic readers and writers are the best bar none :) Before I introduce this chapter, I want to address a couple of things. First, Sarah, no worries, I didn't find your comment snarky at all. My backstory that I made up on Lisbon involved her starting off as an FBI agent in D.C. before moving to California to head up her own team at the CBI. I hope that clears up the slight confusion. Second, I actually found the finale a bit lacking in content *runs from the rotten vegetables being thrown her way* Don't get me wrong, the last couple of minutes were amazing. But I sort of guessed who the baddie was from early on, so I was sort of bored. The end was fan-frickin'-tastic though! Anyhow, enough from me, here is the companion chapter to the first one. This time from Jane's POV. Not sure if it's as good as the one from Lisbon's but I did try my best and I hope you like it. Enjoy!**

**Spoilers: WATCH THE FINALE... WATCH THE FINALE... WATCH THE FINALE... Have I convinced you yet with my psychic powers?  
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**Disclaimer: Zilcho, ownership. I don't even own my own car.  
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**Life (Jane's POV)**

I remember the first time I fired a gun, as if it were yesterday. My father had given me a rifle as an early present for my eleventh birthday. We took off in my Uncle Winifred's van the following week and drove to his cabin just outside of Suisun. Dad thought it would be a good time to teach me how to become a man and go hunting in the woods. When we got to the site, I suddenly felt this nervous anxiety building inside of me. Uncle Win ruffled my hair as he handed me my gun. He walked me through the perfect shot. What was it he kept repeating over and over again? _Aim's the key, silence the method. They won't know what hit 'em._ I watched as Uncle Win tore a bullet through the first thing that he saw. Bang.

I felt my heart leap into my throat. It was a bird. I couldn't recall what kind. The others scattered into the air as the one hit twitched about before going still. Dad let out a loud holler of approval at Uncle Win, who was just grinning proudly. I felt sick to my stomach. Soon, the birds returned to a spot just a few feet away, seeming to forget that one of their own was just murdered. I wanted to tell them to find a different place to rest, that if they stayed they were in harm's way. But the birds clearly had no intention of going anywhere. I remember suddenly wishing that I knew how to speak bird. Dad guided my hands to the proper positions along the rifle, one on the trigger, the other on the barrel. My body was involuntarily protesting, but my father's strong grip on me held me in place as he aimed my gun at the flock. I squeezed my eyes shut when he used my finger to pull the trigger. Bang.

When I opened my eyes, I saw nothing. The birds were back up in the sky as relief swept over me. But my father told me to listen carefully. It took me I few minutes, when I finally heard the distinctive whimper of a wounded animal. My eyes focused on a mass of feathers not far from where I was standing. A bird, smaller than the one Uncle Win had just killed, was wobbling along the dirt path, falling every few steps. Its wing looked as though it was dipped in red paint. I wanted to run over and help it but my father kept his strong arms around me. Then without warning, another shot. Bang.

A silent scream escaped my throat and everything went still. I could feel the tears welling in my eyes as I pushed against my father's tight grasp, my fists pounding his chest. I was yelling incoherently at him, demanding why he killed the helpless animal. My father held me until I calmed down. He whispered comforting words into my ear, words that couldn't erase the pain I felt. That was the last time I went hunting and I vowed never to touch a gun again.

That was what flashed through my mind as I pulled the trigger. This time, I didn't feel nervous at all. Bang.

The moment I saw Hardy go down, I recoiled from the ugly device in my hand, suddenly feeling guilty for breaking my vow. Only, I didn't dwell on that thought when I caught the look in Lisbon's beautiful eyes. Blue met green. And like in the movies, time slowed to a crawl and the entire world consisted of only me and Teresa Lisbon. I literally had to use every ounce of my strength to will the tears burning behind my eyes not to fall. Never in my life did I feel so grateful to be wrong. I chose life. I chose to save hers.

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_**Fin for now, Jello forever**_


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